


Calm in the Storm

by Beauteousmajesty



Series: On discovery [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, None of my Nordics are cishet - Freeform, Unspecified Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beauteousmajesty/pseuds/Beauteousmajesty
Summary: We’re never truly alone. No matter how lonely we feel.





	Calm in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is described in intimate detail but I’d advise anyone worried to read with caution.  
> The mental illness is unspecified bc I just wrote my way out of one of my own breakdowns and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

It was amazing, how fast Denmark could change from being possibly the happiest person on the planet to wanting to jump off of a bridge. Not that jumping off a bridge would help to kill him, by any measure. Immortality was vexing like that.

He’d tried before, and would try again to ‘shuffle off this mortal coil’ as one Danish prince was rumoured to phrase it. There had been that whole debacle with Prussia after Sweden had taken Norway. It hadn’t worked. Death never seemed to quite take. Unconsciousness was the best he could manage, and even that didn’t last.

Alcohol somewhat helped to silence the voices that told him exactly why everyone hated him. The little whispers that pointed out everything he’d done wrong in a conversation, the people he’d accidentally snubbed, and did he or did he not say thank you to the man who held open the door for him? It was at times like that that he wished he could just be quiet. He wished his dumb mouth would stop talking nonsense that nobody wanted to hear.

He didn’t tell anybody when he got like this. He couldn’t tell anybody when he got like this. The problem was that he talked too much, he knew that. He’d pestered them into hating him, why would anyone respond? Besides, it wasn’t their problem, it was his. He was an independent nation, he’d raised himself, who could he even turn to?

His royal family were basically children, never living long enough for him to truly trust them. His government looked on him as a barometer for Danish politics and he didn’t want to mess up their workings.

Sweden would laugh at him. He knew that. Sweden always laughed at him. Or stabbed him. Or ignored him.

Finland was too much of a mess to have to bear the burdens of Denmark’s problems too. Denmark had caused quite a bit of Finland’s trauma as well, which definitely wouldn’t have endeared him to the nation, regardless of his friendly exterior. No, Finland wasn’t an option.

Iceland was a child. Denmark had caused any trauma the boy might have, through famines and religious turmoil and his own selfishness. He’d never listened to Iceland like he should have.

It wouldn’t be fair for him to tell any of the children and it was certainly not a good idea to tell anyone who wasn’t a Nordic. Flaunting one’s weaknesses to the world was one of the first things a nation learned never to do.

The Netherlands was almost an option. But their friendship didn’t work like that. The pair only got together to chill or have a laugh. Sharing vulnerability was not on the agenda.

That left Norway. Norway would come, if Denmark told him. Norway would come and sit quietly, making the house warm, brush away Denmark’s worries for a moment and it would be like he’d never been taken away.

Norway might come. Denmark wasn’t really sure. He was better off now. He didn’t need Denmark. Denmark had only dragged him down anyway. Independence had done wonders for Norway. He was still stick-thin, quiet and awkward, but there was a resurfaced layer of confidence in his movements and voice that had disappeared in the 1300s.

Norway would be happier if Denmark stayed quiet. Norway liked quiet, its why he liked Iceland more. It’s why he left Denmark for Sweden. Denmark was loud and he knew his family hated it. He couldn’t tell them.

  
Norway was only quietly nice to Denmark because he was a polite person. Denmark could see through it all. He’d conditioned Norway into caring for him. He was selfish, thinking Nations he’d traumatised would come to help him. No, he was alone.

He was alone. All alone. Just Denmark and alcohol. He’d bought vodka. He hated vodka. But Nations needed lots of alcohol to get drunk and he needed to forget. He needed to forget the people he’d hurt, and the mistakes he’d made. He needed to forget how alone he felt. He needed to forget the urge that had been screaming at him to introduce his shaving razor to his arms and stop the screaming in his head. He needed quiet.

The silent room was too loud. The darkness was too bright. The emptiness was both too full and too lonely. He was choking on tears. He couldn’t even remember what had upset him in the first place. He was alone. He hated being alone. But there was nobody who could come. Nobody who would care.

Even Prussia said no when he tried to give his nationhood to him. It made sense. Who’d want to be Denmark anyway?

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the a glimmer of light slide under the door as somebody turned the hall light on, dimly illuminating the dim room. He didn’t notice the quiet footsteps and the sounds of doors being methodically opened along the hallway. He barely even registered as the door to the dark room opened and whoever was in the house approached him.

He paid no attention as the other figure settled next to him on the floor of the cold house, shifting aside empty bottles to make a space next to the intoxicated nation.

It was dark in the room as he felt another hand reach out to touch his own. It startled him, and he snatched his own hand back, his first real movement in an hour.

‘Hello’ said a quiet and apologetic voice in the dark. Norway had come. Denmark wondered why.

‘Can I hug you?’ The other nation persisted, Denmark nodded halfheartedly, movement lit by the light from the corridor. Familiar, gentle arms wrapped themselves around him. Their hugs were always careful, as one of them was usually hurt. Denmark leaned into Norway, but for once, didn’t return the embrace.

Norway didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat and held him in his warm, jumper-clad arms. They were overtly familiar with each other’s insecurities, Norway had guessed what was wrong. So they sat in silence. If Denmark talked, Norway would listen.

Denmark shivered in the cold house and Norway held him closer as he muttered an old word in a forgotten tongue and the fire built itself, casting warm, flickering light into the room. One of Denmark’s bright knitted quilts made its way into Norway’s hands and found itself spread over the pair.

The silence wasn’t deafening anymore. It was warm and comfortable. They sat together and fell asleep on the floor. It was nothing new, they were acquainted well with the floor. Well enough that Norway had invested in a number of rugs for Denmark’s house, claiming he’d only done so because Ikea had named a large number of rugs after Danish places so it was only fitting they end up in his house.

They were cozy and warm and they were together. And that was all that mattered. All right would come later, perhaps, but Norway would always come if Denmark’s government noted his absence and the floor would gain yet another rug to complement a carpet of empty bottles.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry


End file.
